


Two (un)Lives

by paperficwriter



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust Being Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26353285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperficwriter/pseuds/paperficwriter
Summary: Angel isn't used to being free of his old life and wants a taste of what he left behind. And although Alastor may be supportive of him revisiting his wild oats, maybe the past doesn't want Angel back the way he does...
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 136
Collections: Oneshots Radiodust





	Two (un)Lives

**Author's Note:**

> You can also follow me on [Twitter!](http://twitter.com/paperficwriter)

Living with Alastor in the Radio Tower has been...nice for Angel. No, really, it has. Now he has two places to crash that he doesn't have to worry about the rent: there and the Hotel.

And Alastor is great, especially for a guy he never actually thought would ever, ever want to be with him. Their initial interactions seemed like it would be more along the lines of “begrudging Radio Demon tolerates sex fiend spider.” What had happened from there surprised both of them.

But…

There really isn't much for him to do in the Radio Tower.

Not for nothing, hanging out with Alastor in his lounge is nice...drinking his good booze, getting attention, distracting the Radio Demon from whatever book he has his nose in...

It's just the same thing. A lot. And Angel isn't good with the same thing. One would think some of the same would be comforting, especially after everything he has been through both living and dead, but instead, it's like there's an itch he can't quite scratch. An uncomfortable pea under his new pile of princess-ish mattresses.

Alastor is getting ready for his afternoon show when Angel leans in the doorway of his room. "Hey, Al?"

"Hmm?"

"I think I'm gonna go out tonight."

Alastor's smile doesn't flinch, but he does pause from straightening his coat to blink at him. Sharp as ever. The guy even dresses up for his radio shows… "Very well. Before or after dinner?"

"Uhhh...after?"

"Splendid! I'll make sure to cook enough, then!"

"But, Al, listen, I mean...I'm gonna go  _ work _ tonight."

The microphone manifests in his hand, and Alastor twirls it, looking at himself in his mirror. "All right."

"...at the club. Ya know what I mean?"

"So I also shouldn't wait up for you?"

Angel tries not to become annoyed. "And you're okay with that?"

The Radio Demon’s whole head tilts like a particularly inquisitive dog preparing to go after something dead in a hole. "Ha! Why wouldn't I be?"

Angel doesn't really have an answer to that. It's not like Alastor has ever told him that he didn't want him to work anymore. He knows he hates Val (who doesn't?) but that's never been something he's laid on Angel to take responsibility for.

Guess it’s settled, then. That night, Angel leaves.

When he gets to the club, he considers walking to the back like he used to, but instead he goes in the front, cutting through the line of people waiting to get in, then bursting into the club itself. So they can all see him.

_ Them _ , all of them, all the people who come to Val's club under the Porn Studio every night to get their rocks off. 

The response is explosive.

Not really surprising, though, he thinks as he pushes off a big guy who is trying to block his way, promising a lot of money for a private show. "Fellas, c'mon, lemme clock in before ya cream your pants, a'right?"

It feels good. It's exciting.

He feels like himself.

Until he gets to the dressing room.

It's like the heat of the bar accentuates the icy cold reception that meets him here. The girls ignore him. The guys find somewhere else to be. "Where's all my shit?" he grouses when he gets to his mirror. Now he’s glad he had gotten somewhat dolled up before he left the tower since clearly his makeup and jewelry had become free real estate. "Fucking vultures."

"You realize you haven't showed up for a shift in, like, a month, right?" one of the imp servers sneers, not even looking up from where they’re getting ready to head out into the club.

"I've been busy!" At least some of his clothes are still around...some go-go boots, a vinyl thingy that comes off in pieces...yeah, he can work with this.

"Right. Being the Radio Demon's cockwarmer and getting redeemed or what-fucking-ever."

_ Ouch _ . Angel mentally puts the pieces together as he gets dressed, the countless cold shoulders beginning to make more sense. None of the others can really pull in the money he does. And if Val hasn't been getting his usual cut...

...whatever. Not his problem. He's paid his fucking dues, okay? None of these bitches knows the hell he's been through. He's made damn sure of it.

So he leaves all of them and hits the stage, and all the bitter taste in his mouth goes away, replaced by salty sweet heat. Because the music is good, and the lights are bright, and his body falls right back into it all like it never stopped moving.

Everyone is trying to get a seat in front.

Is this what he's been missing? Feeling powerful and gorgeous and watching how badly people will claw each other's eyes out just to be able to throw money at him?

Here, he feels like he's good at something.

He's hooked on it, and it's hooked into him.

The next song hits. He does it again.

And again.

He should probably take a break. But the crowd isn't tired of him, and he's going to milk them for every cent. Fuck it, he feels amazing. He even lets the dirtbags get a little closer than he normally does. Doesn't even kick them in the face. 

When he finally goes behind the curtain again, Angel's chest is heaving, and his fur is wet in places from the sweat.

He has a huge smile, though. 

He's never made this much cash from a handful of songs. Maybe a whole shift on a busy night.  _ Maybe _ .

He shouldn't be surprised when Val is waiting for him in the hallway leading back to the dressing room, eyes glowing in the shadows. No doubt he saw him on the floor, and even if he was in a meeting, he can find money like a moth can find a candle.

"Angel..." he says through one of the smiles he always has on his face when he's not pissed. Yet. "Welcome back, baby."

"Heyaaa, Val." This is awkward. And not in that 'run into your ex on the street' awkward. The dangerous kind of awkward. The pick-your-words awkward.

He hands over his money. This is how it goes. Cash goes to Val, then he gets his cut. Easy. Quick.

Except...not this time.

Val is counting the money slowly.

"Are we gonna be seeing more of you now?"

Angel watches him, trying to play off the tension in his shoulders, two hands on his hips and the other two over his chest. "I mean, maybe? I got a lot goin' on, so...we'll see."

"...Right. Busy schedule. Because you're a big fucking deal, right?"

His voice is quiet but a bit high, like a string played tight on a violin. Angel tries to ignore the bubbling anxiety, preparing, waiting, because usually it's at this point Val snaps. This is when everything usually goes horribly bad.

Instead, he puts all the money in his jacket and turns to go.

Maybe it’s the fact that nothing happened that makes all the nervous energy convert into something else entirely. It sours and boils. There's a part of Angel's brain that's watching this, screaming at him asking if he realizes what the  _ fuck _ he is doing, what an idiot he is.

"What the fuck, Val? Where's my cut? I earned that shit."

Val turns and hits him hard across the jaw, so hard it rattles things around inside his head, and he can’t even be surprised. How could he be? And he can't still can’t admit that he doesn't see it coming when he grabs his hair and pulls him up to his face.

Val’s laughing at him. "You must be shitting me!" He gives him a shake like he’s something that’s not working the way it’s supposed to. "You think you can just come and go as you like because you're  _ deer boy's _ little pet now? Fuck outta here with that. He doesn't know you like I do, baby. He may think you're hot now, but he'll get tired of your nonsense."

Angel isn't dropped on the floor so much as he's thrown. His face throbs, and he doesn't look up at Val again.

"But listen, sweetheart, when he does drop you like a bad habit, you can come ask Daddy nicely to take you back. I'm sure we can arrange a deal so you can make up for all the time off..."

He’s left completely alone. He doesn’t go back to the dressing room. When Angel leaves, he goes out the back. He doesn't need to see anyone, and he doesn't need anyone to see him. 

For a second, he turns to go back to the Radio Tower.

And then stops.

He just can’t do it. He can’t go back right now after that. But if not to Alastor’s place, where…?

...Nobody will be up at this hour at the hotel.

So he goes there instead.

He climbs into bed and lies there in the dark, face swollen, everything hurt, and hugs his middle. He's glad he had some clothes here, so he could change out of his outfit, throwing the remains in the trash.

He doesn't see Alastor when he appears. He  _ hears _ him. A sound permanently emits from him, and sometimes it changes, but when he's not talking, Alastor sounds like a neon sign that's been left on too long. When he blinks, it's like it's shorting out a bit.

Angel has gotten used to it.

What he hasn't quite gotten used to is how Alastor also glows in the dark, mostly his eyes and sometimes the microphone when it's manifested. 

It freaks him out a little sometimes.

So he reaches out to turn on a lamp at his bedside.

"What're ya doin' here, Al? Go home."

It's not that he means to sound annoyed. But when shit goes south, it's the only way to keep someone from taking advantage of how shitty he feels and then making it worse.

...Not that Alastor would do that, just...

It's a reflex now.

"I learned something new tonight," Alastor declares, though not as loud as usual.

Angel sighs. "Wassat."

"Your piglet companion is absolutely inconsolable when you aren't present at the end of the night! Couldn't sleep a wink."

"Heh...yeah...he's cute like that."

Alastor tries to look at him. At his face. Angel turns away, even if it means fresh pain when he presses it into the pillow.

"Don't... Okay? Just. Don't. It's all stupid bullshit."

He pulls back. "Hmm."

Then... "...Did ya let me go because you knew this was going to happen?"

"Ha! Future sight would be an impressive addition to my magical arsenal!"

The reply just heats him up even more. "Okay, so what then? What, did ya wanna see me tumble and fall into the fiery pit of failure or whatever ya said..."

Alastor barks out a laugh. "I did say that once upon a time, didn't I?! Right here, in this hotel!"

“This isn’t a fuckin’ joke, Al!” The sound of his mirth hurts the center of Angel's chest. "Did you do it because it would be fucking entertaining?!"

There's that head tilt again, and although Alastor's smile is unchanged, his brows go up a bit in the middle. 

"Darling, I spent an evening alone in my tower, with an absolutely heartbroken demon pet I could in no way satisfy, and I come to find you, hurt by a cretin I loathe more than a swan-dive into the bowels of Hell itself. Does that seem like it would be entertaining for me?"

"...no."

"Correct." He touches his face softly, and as much as Angel wants to stop him, he doesn't. He lets him rest his fingers on the swollen bump on his jaw and kiss it lightly.

"Dearest Angel, I am not your mother. I am not your jailer. Your unlife is your own…and with it, your decisions. I will never stop you from doing anything. Well. Perhaps with a few exceptions. Regardless, that doesn't mean I don't have an investment in your well-being."

Angel is quiet, finally sitting up. "So...what now, then?"

When Alastor speaks, all the tiny crackles, the crossed wires, the broadcast voice echoes...it all clears out, leaving only his smooth words. "So, come home with me. It’s that simple. Meaning, not simple at all, difficult as most things are, but for now...it will be just fine."

_ It will be just fine. _

At last, Angel holds out his arms. "Only if ya carry me. And not with the shadowy tentacle things like last time."

"Oh, what fun are you?" Alastor still lifts him off the bed, and it's ridiculous, really, because he's much shorter than Angel. Angel is so many limbs, long and bending in all sorts of directions, but...Alastor folds him up into his arms and somehow...they make it work.

It’s strangely perfect. Just like them.


End file.
